


Gunslinger

by PalenDrome (nerdherderette)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Western, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Digital Art, Embedded Images, Eventual Fluff, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Gambling, Gun Violence, Hand Jobs, Heist, Historical References, Light Angst, M/M, Minor Character Death, Oral Sex, Rey Skywalker, Surprise Pairing, Tags Contain Spoilers, Train Robbery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-02 16:25:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10948293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdherderette/pseuds/PalenDrome
Summary: Fifteen years ago, Kylo turned his back on his family to rise to the top of Snoke’s Gang, a group of some of the roughest outlaws in the Wild West. But when the temptation of a train heist proves too great, he finds himself back in Anchorhead, Nevada, where his mother, Sheriff Leia Organa, watches over the disorderly town.Armed with his Model 3 and his lover, Snoke strategist Armitage Hux, Kylo has plans of his own. But success is never a guarantee—especially given Snoke’s growing suspicions of the pair, and a past that won't let the Gunslinger go.[excerpt]:Kylo could see where this was going from a mile away; the last thing he wanted was to accompany some yammerin’ greenhorn from Gotham.  “It’s Christmas tomorrow, Tarkin.” He slid down, his long legs taking up the entire space beneath the small table. “Who’s the lucky gump making the trip with Armitage?”“Gather ‘round, men. Time to draw cuts,” Tarkin answered, holding out a fistful of straw. Kylo reached towards the pile and pulled.He watched as Hux’s eyes widened. When Kylo looked down, the smirk slid off his face.He shouldn’t have been surprised to discover that he had pulled the shortest straw.





	1. Dead Man's Hand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kyluxtrashcompactor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyluxtrashcompactor/gifts).



> Dear [**@kyluxtrashcompactor:**](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kyluxtrashcompactor/pseuds/kyluxtrashcompactor)
> 
> Nearly one year ago, I discovered—and then promptly fell in love with—the Kylux ship. Even though I was late in joining the party, you’ve been nothing but welcoming and supportive, pulling me out of my lurker status to splash in the waters with you. Fandom is certainly lucky to have someone as generous as you in it, but even more importantly, I’m incredibly lucky to call you my friend.
> 
> I know I told you I would write a (more traditional) Fairy Tale for these two, and that's still coming, I promise! But in the meantime, I wanted to give you a different version—a Western Fairy Tale of sorts, for this fabulous pair <3
> 
>  

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bodie gains and loses a man when the Gunslinger rides into town.
> 
> **[excerpt]**  
>  “Fetch me a glass of your best gut-warmer. And leave off the coffin varnish,” he added in warning as the barkeep reached for a bottle of the cheaper, adulterated booze. “If I end up airin’ the paunch, it won’t be the last thing that I spill on your floor.”
> 
> Plutt’s gaze slid downwards, nervously resting on Kylo’s piece. Carrying a firearm or two (or three) was de rigueur in these parts, but there was something about the quiet power bristling in Kylo’s large hands that made him take pause.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to my amazing, incredible betas [**@thecopperriver**](http://archiveofourown.org/users/thecopperriver) and [**@Gefionne,**](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Gefionne) whose expert minds and keen eyes I value greatly, and who are just the absolute best! <33

 

**_30 miles to water, 20 miles to wood, 10 miles to hell and I gone there for good._ **

_~Unknown_

 

**July 12, 1870**

_Fuck._

Kylo tugged on his bandana, trying to keep out the dirt.  Bodie was surprisingly populated for a mining town established less than a decade ago.  The discovery of a sizeable deposit of gold-bearing ore certainly helped, the increasing number of gadabouts further abetted by the abundance of liquor.  Even if the local hundred-proof rotgut weren’t lethal, the combination of money and booze was at least potent enough to addle one’s brain _,_ and there were plenty of places to take advantage of that fact, as the growing number of bit houses, brothels, and opium dens certainly showed.

Kylo grimaced as he shifted in his saddle, nudging Vader as he drew back on the reins to slow their pace.  Despite the kerchief, it was nigh impossible to keep all the grit and sand from entering and settling between his teeth, especially on a road as dusty as this.  A bead of sweat formed above his brow from the unrelenting heat, the dampness that it left on the beaver felt an uncomfortable reminder of its existence against his skin.  He looked ahead as he pulled on the brim of his hat in an effort to buy more shade.  Unlike the high-crowned, wide-brimmed Stetsons favored by many of the cowboys, his own hat’s low lines and oversized black body intimated that he was someone different.  It was the hat of someone who spent his days wrangling not cattle, but animals of the two-legged kind.

He dismounted in front of Chalmun’s Saloon, the slick leather sole of his boot sliding easily out of the stirrup as he hit the dirt.  The heels added a few inches to his already impressive frame as he drew himself up to his full height, and if that and his scowl weren’t enough of a deterrent for the curious and the rude, the nickel-finished barrel of the .44 Smith and Wesson Model 3 that rested casually against his hip definitely was.  He scanned the street.  It was fairly deserted, its bustle temporarily replaced by the unrelenting boom of the stamp mills that lined the foothills of the Sierra Nevada in the distance, their water wheels and cams showing no signs of slowing down.

A skittering noise caught Kylo’s attention.  A small lizard, its body warmed sufficiently by the sun, dashed out over the rock upon which it bathed.  The reptile’s dark and leathery scales were dotted with a turquoise blue, a color which matched its soft underbelly and the long line of its throat.  It took several steps forward, then hesitated, caught somewhere between slithering and scurrying about on its bent, squat legs.  Kylo slipped his right hand into the pocket of his waistcoat.  He watched the lizard resume its movements, rubbing his thumb softly along the engravings which decorated the surface of the verge fusee, the watch’s worn case both familiar and accusing against his calloused hand.

His shadow thinned and lengthened as the sun reached its peak.  Kylo looked up; its brightness burned his eyes, its circular outline continually wavering and expanding through a film of dust.  Blue bled into yellow, the colors suddenly fractured by the swooping lines of a buzzard that wheeled about in the sky.  It grunted as it flew ** _—_** ugly and avaricious, but with a breathtaking grace.  Kylo successfully stared into the brightness for several more seconds without blinking, until his eyes watered at its intensity and his lids shuttered of their own accord.

By the time his vision returned, both lizard and buzzard were gone.

Kylo whistled, a tuneless sound that lingered long after his lips had closed as he exchanged the solidity of the watch for the well-worn, wooden grip of his Model 3.  

A determined smile settled over his face.  It seemed to be as good a day as any for a killing.

 

**.~O~.**

The doors to the groggery swung open, its wood bleached and worn from the sun and the cavalcade of bodies that pushed against their slatted frames. Kylo stepped through, the _thwap-ing_ increasing in frequency as the panels flipped back and forth on hinges made lazy from use and rust.  The movement allowed the sun to flicker like a kinetoscope against the darkness of the hall, casting judgment on the show of vice and depravity until the doors finally slowed to a close.

The pajados of Kylo’s spurs jingled pleasingly against the steady clip of his heels.  He leaned over the oaken bar, its length sticky and discolored by spilt drinks and numerous other ungodly fluids.  It was the kind of place, Kylo thought as he undid the button on his holster, that welcomed a man at night, and spat him out for breakfast by the morn.

“Fetch me a glass of your best gut-warmer.  And leave off the coffin varnish,” he added in warning as the barkeep reached for a bottle of the cheaper, adulterated booze.  “If I end up airin’ the paunch, it won’t be the last thing that I spill on your floor.”

Plutt’s gaze slid downwards, nervously resting on Kylo’s piece.  Carrying a firearm or two (or three) was de rigueur in these parts, but there was something about the quiet power bristling in Kylo’s large hands that made him take pause.  Plutt swallowed, the wood under his legs protesting loudly from his shifting weight.

“Look, mister.  I’m not looking to crawl your hump.  But the best we’ve got around here is some mule skinner or half-decent benzene.  It’s not the best, but it still burns good going down.”

Kylo inclined his head towards the dark brown bottle which sat tucked away in the corner.  “I’ll take the Old Overholt,” he said as Plutt’s eyes widened.  Kylo fingered the length of his revolver delicately.  “The whole bottle,” he added.

Plutt looked like he desperately wanted to protest the loss of his best rye, but the look on Kylo’s face and a keen sense of self-preservation made him choke back the words instead.  “Of course.  No charge,” he added hurriedly as Kylo gave him a knowing smirk.

Kylo tipped his hat and lifted the bottle to his lips.  The smell of orange and citrus wafted from the mouth of the bottle, and the dark liquor slid smoothly down his throat, chased by something spicy and faintly sweet.  He turned his back towards Plutt, taking a larger sip as he scanned the room.  A single, long table took up most of the space near the opposite wall, surrounded by eight punters who impatiently awaited the dealing of the Faro banker’s hand.  A smaller group sat around a table in the corner, engrossed in what appeared to be a modest game of poker.  With the addition of the stray drunk and Plutt and Kylo, that made eighteen men ** _—_** not including those who were otherwise incapacitated, or busy enjoying pleasures of the carnal kind in one of the rooms upstairs.

Several soiled doves and dance hall girls roamed the floors.  Kylo’s eyes drifted to one in particular.  Her soft brown hair was knotted into a braid, its intricate design secured at the nape of her neck with a delicate pin. She stood proud, the jut of her chin deliciously defiant, yet her boldness was undermined by the way her eyes darted continuously around the room.  Her hand was wont to rest along her leg, and Kylo would have bet his pocket advantage that there was an apple peeler or derringer strapped against the silkiness of her thigh.

Her eyes suddenly locked on his.  A becoming flush stained her cheeks under the intensity of his scrutiny, until she finally yielded and looked away.  She proceeded to make her way to one of the leather necks sitting at the bar, smoothing the satin of her skirt as she batted her eyes and successfully enticed him into buying yet another drink.

So not a lady of the line, then _—_ at least, not yet. Kylo looked around at some of the fallen frails.  Even the bright red rouge on their sunken cheeks and their mended fishnet stockings couldn’t mask the surrounding stench of booze and vomit and piss.  His nostrils flared as he walked past a rag tag group of gamblers, left with little more than the Firewhiskey on their breath and the tobacco stains on their teeth.  He ignored the increasingly stifling heat as he headed towards the small group in the corner.

His shadow fell across their table.  “Room for another?”  Kylo watched as two of the four men lifted their eyes, their faces failing to hide their surprise before smoothing over into something more unrecognizable.

The younger of the pair fiddled with his cards.  “Were we supposed to _—_?”  Thanisson’s voice trailed off at the sight of Kylo’s warning glare.

Mitaka cleared his throat.  “We were just about to deal another hand.”  He nodded at one of the players.  “Move over, Rodinon.”  The other man stiffened and made a move to protest, but thought the better of it when Kylo stepped forward, lazily palming his gun.  Rodinon shrugged inelegantly, and moved aside with a grunt.

“Five-card draw, aces high, California Prayer Book is seven-to-ace.  Two dollar minimum.  And no drawing from the bottom of the deck.”  Mitaka riffled the cards, boxing and cutting the deck before dealing them out with a practiced flick of his wrist.  Kylo allowed himself the luxury of mulling over the other man’s face.  Mitaka was young _—_ younger than Kylo, at least, but when Kylo was twenty-three, he already had a grittiness and disciplined hunger that he doubted Mitaka would ever achieve.  Mitaka struck Kylo as a follower _—_ his face too expressive to be deceptive, his heart filled with too many thoughts of his young wife and his soon-to-be-born bantling to strike down those who got in his way.  He would have had a better life as a penny-weighter, rather than as a member of one of the West’s most ruthless and notorious gangs.

Rodinin stared at his cards with a grimace before throwing them down.  “I’m out.”

Thanisson threw in two dollars.  Kylo eyed his hand, then added another five, which was rapidly followed by two dollars from the person to his left and then Mitaka.

“Three cards,” Thanisson requested, discarding the same amount from his hand.  He gulped down his beer and replaced the nearly empty glass hit the top of the table with a dull thud, the residue from his mouth blurring the glass’ edge.  

“You know,” Kylo drawled.  “Word around these parts is the Jim Andersen was killed last weekend.”  He pushed a card toward the center of the table.  “One.”

“Two.”  The person to Kylo’s left threw a pair of cards over his.  They were tall; nearly as tall as Kylo, but the voice was softer than expected and somewhat difficult to place.  Kylo tried not to squint; from this angle, with their wide-brimmed hat, it was nearly impossible to see their eyes.  “I heard it was someone from the James-Younger Gang.”

Mitaka held his cards close to his vest.  “I’m good.”

“It was,” Kylo continued.  “Apparently, Andersen was both a murderer and a thief.”  He smirked.  “Well, that much was always known.  But you just don’t do that kind of thing to someone in your own gang.”

“Honor amongst thieves?” the stranger asked.

“Something like that.”  Kylo sat back and took a long sip of his whiskey, finishing it off with a smack of his lips.

“‘Reckon certain things are a bigger motivator than fear.”

Kylo hummed.  “Like what?”

The stranger didn’t miss a beat.  “Revenge, for one.”

Thanisson cleared his throat.  He watched Kylo uncertainly, then scrubbed two rumpled bills from his hand and placed it in the pot.

Rodinon let out a low whistle as Kylo put in a twenty dollar gold banknote.  “Fuck.  Too rich for my blood.  Glad I got out when I did.”

“That’s it for me, too,” No-name said.  “I’m out.”

Mitaka hesitated for the slightest second before putting in a ten dollar note.  “All-in.”

“I hear congratulations are in order, Mitaka,” Kylo said suddenly.  “How _is_ your wife?  Must be difficult for you _—_ with a babe on the way, and always so far from home.  You should be careful, ‘less she becomes another California Widow.”  Kylo smiled, displaying a wide row of teeth at Mitaka’s buffaloed expression.  "It's just so terribly clichéd."

“Uh _—_ sir?”  Thanisson was practically squirming.  Kylo fought back a sigh; he knew he was flouting the rules, discussing personal details in a public place filled with strangers, but if the kid didn’t get his act together, he would soon be joining his friend.  After all, there was no place for liabilities in his line of work.

“C’mon, Thanisson,” Mitaka murmured.  “Shows us your hand.”

“Two pair,” Thanisson announced, throwing down a pair of sevens and two queens.

Kylo’s grin grew wider.  “Full house.  Aces over sixes.”  He laid them out over the table and pushed them purposefully toward Mitaka, the thick paper sliding smoothly against the wood.

Mitaka stared at the Ace of Spades.  “That’s impossible,” he breathed.  Kylo watched as Mitaka’s hand shook, the line of his throat bobbing furiously.

Kylo stared into Mitaka’s eyes.  “Impossible how?”  He barked out a laugh, brassy and bright as his eyes went dark. “Are you calling me a cheat?”  The younger man’s dark brown eyes shifted uncertainly under Kylo’s unflinching gaze.  The din in the saloon became muffled in the background, and Kylo watched as a bead of sweat dripped slowly from Mitaka’s brow and onto his cheek.

Sometimes, the whole of one’s life can be condensed into the space of a second.  Things slowed, fuzzy and dreamlike, muffled under the weight of the heat.  Thanisson backed up in his seat, the thin legs of his chair screeching in protest as he sucked in his breath.  Rodinon shouted, and the bland strains of _“Father's a Drunkard and Mother Is Dead”_ that was playing on the piano in the background were exchanged for the clang of a dissonant chord.  Kylo felt the metal press of the pocketwatch against his belly as he stood, the sudden movement rocking the table as the melting ice rattled in a puddle of warm beer and Deadshot as the glasses tilted and spilled.

Kylo’s shadow fell across the doomed man.  A look that could almost pass as pity crossed his otherwise impassive face.

“Sorry, Mitaka.  But I guess it takes one to know one,” Kylo said, pulling his Model 3 out fluidly, welcoming the familiar recoil against his palm as he put a single, heeled bullet cleanly through Mitaka’s head.

Time contracted, then expanded, as it resumed its proper speed.  The screams of the daughters of sin mixed with Plutt’s angry cries, and there was the familiar slide of metal against leather as a number of the patrons whipped out their guns.

Kylo pried the cards out of Mitaka’s lifeless grip.  “Look at that,” he mused, turning over two black aces and a pair of black eights.  “He went and got himself a Dead Man’s Hand.”

“C’mon!” Plutt shouted.  “I’ve got enough trouble coming through these doors at night without you no-count Longriders coming ‘round here to settle your hash.”  He motioned to the money on the table, his jowls wobbling as he resorted to a plea.  “Have mercy on a poor saloon owner, young man.  A full house divided don't win no pots.  Please _—_ take your winnings and go.”

Thanisson retched, white as a sheet from the whip-belly and fear.  The muscle in Kylo’s jaw twitched; he spread his hands wide, as if to acquiesce, although his favored cannon never left his grip.

“I’m out, men,” Kylo said, scooping up his winnings.  “Allers a pleasure.  But it seems I have a date with the Auger tonight, and I don’t aim to be late.”  Kylo heard Thanisson whisper a prayer for Mitaka as he turned, diggers jangling as his heels hit the floor.  The murmurs surrounding him grew in volume until they finally reached the level of the raucous and ribald blusterations that normally filled the saloon, along with the evidence of their carousing.

A flash of teal caught his eye.  The dance hall girl had sidled up to No-name, in an attempt to wrangle some money for a dance.  She leaned in at the their obvious interest, her body angling to its best advantage as she entwined her hand around their neck.  A silky lock of pale, blond hair to slipped out from underneath their brim, which she easily wrapped around her thumb.

Hazel eyes glanced up, as if registering the weight of Kylo’s stare.  He tipped his hat in her direction as he stepped out the doors and into the street, chuckling at her narrowing gaze.

 

**.~O~.**

It took several seconds for Kylo to adjust to the brightness and the overwhelming blast of the desert heat, the mixture of light and dust suffocatingly thick.  He barely had time to register the smell of leather and tobacco before he felt the warmth of a body brush against him.  Kylo chastised himself for letting his guard down.  A moment of complacency could mean the difference between lying above the ground or below it.  The admonishment was fleeting, however, as he gave into the comfort of the familiar pull and leaned in.

Hux looked out at the dry goods stores across the street, its shelves lined with candy jars, coffee mills, and cartridges and shells.  The building’s whitewashed, two storied frame and shaded porch stood out amidst the others, with their silver-grey or brown plankings and purlin roofs, resembling something that was essential yet out of place.  He took a slow drag of his cigarette; the paper hissed as it burned, the smoke curling grey around the makin’s sweet and pungent tip.

Kylo’s eyes flicked down instinctively and lingered on the circle of Hux’s pale, pink mouth.

“All done?”

“Yeah.”  Kylo remained silent for a moment, before pilfering the remainder of the cigarette and placing it between his lips.  He inhaled, exalting in the sweet smell of the Virginia leaf mixed with the taste of Hux on his tongue.  “You know,” he said as Hux waited patiently, “I can’t imagine that Mitaka ever chiseled Snoke.  Just doesn’t seem the type.”

Hux gave him a look.  There was an air of quietness about him, which _—_ combined with Hux’s lean lines and dangerous elegance _—_ did as much for Kylo’s brain as it did for his prick.

“Mitaka was small potatoes.”

“Maybe.  But he was one of us.”  Kylo fidgeted, something he only allowed himself to do in Hux’s presence.  The doubt which had been niggling under his skin finally wormed its way out.  “Snoke could have ordered the hit as a way of testing me.  I’m pretty sure Phasma was in there, as well.”

Hux made a non-committal sound.  “If she was, you’re probably right.  Snoke’s used her as an extra pair of eyes and ears in the past, and she can be relied upon if necessary to finish the job herself.”  He felt Kylo shift, the gunslinger’s massive frame somehow turning awkward and small.  “If it hadn’t been you, Kylo, it would have been someone else,” Hux added softly.  “You’re fast, and you’re clean.  For Mitaka _—_ well, it’s less cruel, this way.”

“Fifteen years, Hux.  Fifteen years, and Snoke still feels the need to test my loyalty.”

“Snoke’s only loyalty is unto himself.  He can’t trust the fealty of others, because he’s never been able to give it to anyone else.”

A desperation rose in Kylo.  “And what about you?” he asked, turning to Hux.

Gorgeous green eyes looked back, filled with a softness and tenderness that was reserved solely for Kylo.  A sudden warmth flooded through him as he awaited Hux’s answer, which had nothing to do with the sweltering heat of the California sun.

“My loyalties?”  Hux allowed himself a small smile.  “They’re wherever yours are,” he answered, simply and honestly.

Kylo looked out towards the foot of the mountains, at the swarm of miners ready to burst through the streets to spend the remainder of their hard-earned keep.  It was a vicious cycle, he thought _—_ the allure of adventure and wealth, and the need to lose yourself and all you had when you’re finally confronted with the dismal reality of what that entailed.

The sun lowered, spilling pink along its edges as if it were too swollen to hold in its yellowed heat.  A streak of black and blue darted in front of him, leaving behind a kick of dust and the long-toed remnant of a lizard’s track.

Kylo huffed out a laugh, earning him an inquisitive gaze.

“Ready?” Hux asked.

“Yeah.”  Kylo dropped the cigarette, stamping it with his heel until the ash and paper disappeared into the dirt.

He fingered his Model 3.  Five beans in the wheel, and at the ready.  “Time for us to go see Snoke.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Conversion for US dollars, 1870 to 2017 prices:  
> $1~18  
> $2~36  
> $5~$90  
> $20~$360
> 
> *weekly wages for laborers in 1870 were typically around $10/week


	2. Ghosttowns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **_Kid’s gonna get in trouble one day. Every kid does, but with the blood of a scoundrel and a princess in his veins, his defiance will shake the stars._** —Aftermath: Empire’s End  
>   
> 
> **[excerpt]:**  
>  “I have. It’s the perfect place, in fact.”  Snoke rolled the newspaper.  Kylo felt the rush of hot air as Snoke brought the makeshift tube up and then swiftly down, slamming it emphatically against the edge of his desk.  He flipped the paper over, eyeing the twitching legs that stuck out at odd angles from the dark and sticky mess, before shaking the pages clean of everything but the remnants of its inky print.
> 
> “Tell the men that we will be heading for Anchorhead, Nevada, Mr. Hux.”
> 
> The room tilted and swirled.  A strange buzzing filled Kylo’s head, which had nothing to do with the gadfly whose detritus now coated the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [**@thecopperriver**](http://archiveofourown.org/users/thecopperriver), my wonderful beta and personal Google when it comes to all things horses! <3

 

******_There is only one road away from trouble, and this is along the straight and narrow road_ **

_~Otto Wood_

 

_**July 13, 1870** _

“Would you like another, Mr. Snoke?  They say it’s going to be a hot one today.”

“Hot as a whorehouse on nickel night,”  Snoke agreed, turning up the cuffs of his sleeves.  Kylo marveled at the way they still looked crisp and pristine, despite the sweltering heat.  

Snoke picked up the glass of sarsaparilla, the bits of ice which had yet to melt tinkling against the sides of the thick glass.  A drop of condensation formed at the rim, pregnant and bottom heavy as it started its slide.  Snoke took out his handkerchief, shaking the gauzy cotton and wiping away all traces of the errant moisture before discarding the soiled rag on top of his desk.

Something almost resembling pleasure passed over his lips as he finally took a sip.  “There is nothing that beats an ice cold sarsaparilla on a hot day,” Snoke reflected as he eyed Kylo’s cup of black water and whiskey with a moue of distaste.  “Are you sure you boys wouldn’t be wanting anything else?”

“‘M good,” Kylo answered as Hux simply shook his head in response.

“Then I think that will be all for now, Kaplan.  Please close the door on your way out.”  Snoke picked up the paper, waving it irritably at a gadfly that was buzzing about.  Once the door shut, Snoke leaned forward, snapping open his copy of _The Territorial Enterprise_ and shoving it in front of Hux’s face.  “Look. Virginia City is going to be opening up its own National Bank.  First of its kind in Nevada.”

Kylo looked over the headline.  “Why would they open one up there instead of Carson City?”

“Hmmm,” Hux said thoughtfully.  “Makes sense, given how much money they’re still churning out in Virginia City from the Comstock Lode.  Plus, you’ve got all those surrounding cattle towns.  Drovers need a lot of cash to start their journey, and no one wants to depend on a saddlebag bank for that kind of loan.”

Snoke leaned back, a patronizing smile ghosting over his lips. “Now see, this is why I have Mr. Hux.  Don’t you go worrying your pretty little head about these kind of details, Kylo.  After all, when you impressed me as being quick on the draw, it was because of your shootist skills, and not for your wit.”  Snoke’s eyes were pale and blue, but even their rheumy nature failed to hide his glee.  “What do you know of the National Currency Act, Mr. Hux?”

Hux noticed Kylo’s stiffening posture and surreptitiously moved his leg so their boots touched behind the safety of Snoke’s heavy, oak desk. He cleared his throat.  “The second National Currency Act passed several years ago.  It’s the U.S. Government’s attempt to do away with Wildcat banking, by taking banking out of the States’ and putting it into Federal hands.  A National Bank could then issue notes backed and printed by the government itself.”  Hux’s steady eyes met Snoke’s.  “As fascinating as the government’s attempts to establish a central bank are, I assume that your interest in Nevada’s newest financial institution is more of a personal one?”

Snoke’s eyes narrowed at Hux’s impertinence.  “Besides the fact that the government once used the Act as a way of financing their war against the South?  Yes, I have a personal interest.  One which may benefit us all.

“Thanisson has a cousin who works for Union Pacific’s headquarters in Omaha.  Apparently, there is close to $250,000 in Lincoln Skins and gold notes that will be carried on the Union Pacific line in October, with plans to switch in Utah to a smaller, independent railroad for the remainder of its journey to Virginia City.”

Hux nodded slowly.  “A necessity, given that there are no major lines going into Nevada.”

Snoke nodded, knowing Hux had caught on.  “$250,000.  Guarded, but now on a smaller, air line road.  Frightfully vulnerable to derailment and attack, wouldn’t you think?”

“Even if that were the case, there would still be a significant number of armed men guarding all those greenbacks.  Unbroken prairies and stretches of desert make certain things easier, that is true, but it doesn’t alter the human element.  Plus, we need to consider the proximity of where such a thing would take place.  All those Middle Western areas?  Lots of influence from the other gangs.  There’s great potential for a bag of nails, or even worse.”

Snoke waved away Hux’s concerns.  “I have it on good word that Younger is currently in Dallas County, and that the James brothers are strictly focusing their efforts on the Middle West.  As for the Southwest, ever since Plummer and Three-Fingered Jack had a meeting with the lynching bee, there’s no one who even comes close to running on our turf.  Once the train hits west of the Kansas state line, she’s all ours.”

“Still, closer to where we are is better, given the number of men that we’ll need.  Plus, it’s human nature to grow complacent as the days pass without incident, on this long of a trip.  So, somewhere further along in the journey would be ideal _—_ in our territory, but far enough away from Virginia and Carson City that the number of passengers will be at a low.”

“Agreed.”  Snoke frowned, annoyed once more by the gadfly which had grown bold enough to land on the far corner of his desk.  It wandered around, it’s metallic wings quivering over its dark brown body, drawn in by the sweet scent of vanilla and caramel which wafted from the sarsaparilla in Snoke’s glass.

“It seems that you have given this much thought already,” Hux ventured. “Have you already chosen the place?”

“I have. It’s the perfect place, in fact.”  Snoke rolled the newspaper.  Kylo felt the rush of hot air as Snoke brought the makeshift tube up and then swiftly down, slamming it emphatically against the edge of his desk.  He flipped the paper over, eyeing the twitching legs that stuck out at odd angles from the dark and sticky mess, before shaking the pages clean of everything but the remnants of its inky print.

“Tell the men that we will be heading for Anchorhead, Nevada, Mr. Hux.”

The room tilted and swirled.  A strange buzzing filled Kylo’s head, which had nothing to do with the gadfly whose detritus now coated the floor.

 

  

**.~O~.**

**_December, 1861_ **

Kylo remembered the exact moment when his overwhelming desire to clip Hux turned into a maddening desire to fuck him.

Christmas Eve was one of several days during the year where Kylo found himself unable to stop the comparisons between the state of his current life, and that of years past.  He looked up from his cards. The crowded room was filled with increasingly drunken men, and smelled of cheap whiskey and pine and soot.  A slab of venison was roasting on the hearth, its drippings subsequently scooped into a pan where it caused the waiting corn kernels to explode and balloon.  It was better than the typical fare of hash and beans, but a far cry from his memories of salt pork and molasses, plum pudding and candy-filled stockings.

Kylo turned his attention back to the game of vingt-et-un, hesitating as he weighed the liberty coin in his hand. “Hit,” he said finally, throwing the fifty-cent piece into the pot, and praying that he wouldn’t go bust.

The revelation of what would be added to his jack and three was interrupted as two men entered the room.  “Eyes and ears,” Tarkin announced.  “We’ve got a new addition to our crew.  Say ‘Hello’ to Mr. Snoke’s newest protégé.  This here is Armitage Hux.”

Kylo looked up in irritation at the introduction; the last person who had laid claim to that title had been himself.  His snide remark died in his throat, however, when he caught sight of the newcomer.

“What in the blazes?!” Kylo asked.  He took in the stranger’s lean form as the other men laughed.  Hux was swathed in fine clothing, his face too pink and pale to have spent enough hours in the southern California sun.  With his delicate hands and neat, copper hair, he looked altogether like some Mail Order cowboy, instead of someone from Snoke’s inner circle.

“Not what. _Who_.”  Hux corrected. He waited a beat. “The name’s Armitage Hux.”

“Armie—?”  Kylo snorted.  “What kind of name is that?”

A frown settled on the Hux’s previously implacable face.  “It’s Ar-mi-tage.  ‘ _The beginning of wisdom is to call things by their proper name_ ,’”  Hux couldn’t help adding. “Confucius.”

“Who is this guy” asked Kylo, looking a bit addle-brained as he rolled his eyes, earning him another laugh.  “Whatever are you going on about?”

“Leave it, Kylo,” Tarkin said with a warning glare.  “We have more important things to discuss.  Snoke has a very important job for Mr. Hux, and needs one of you to accompany him tomorrow.”

“Wow. Kylo? ‘ _How seldom we weigh our neighbors in the same balance as ourselves.'"_ Hux arched his brow and let out a soft laugh.  Kylo’s jaw twitched as he reached for the grip of his Remington top-strap revolver.

“That’s enough!” thundered Tarkin.  “Mr. Hux, you may be well-read, but spouting quotations from people as cold as a wagon tire ain’t going to do you a whole lotta good when you’re looking down the barrel of a shootin’ iron.  And Kylo, I don’t know what kind of deviltry’s gotten into you, but I wouldn’t be spoiling for a fight with Mr. Hux.  If Snoke finds out that you’re harassing his new boy, no amount of fancy gunslinging is going to save you from his wrath.”

“Snoke wants me to head down to Rancho Jurupa in the morn,” Hux explained to the group.  “Now that Bandini has moved to Los Angeles, Abel Stearns’ marriage to Bandini’s daughter and his own substantial landholdings have made him one of the wealthiest cattle ranchers around.  With Stearns’ consolidation of land and power, and Bandini’s prior donation of thousands of acres to the Genízaros in exchange for their protection, access to the region including the Santa Ana River has become a near impossibility for Mr. Snoke.  He has asked me to speak to several of the colonists in his stead.”

Kylo could see where this was going from a mile away.  The last thing he wanted was to accompany some yammerin’ greenhorn from Gotham, even if Hux was a Belvidere who cut a mean swell.  “It’s Christmas tomorrow, Tarkin.”  He slid down, his long legs taking up the entire space beneath the small table.  “Who’s the lucky gump making the trip with Armitage?”

“Gather ‘round, men.  Time to draw cuts,” Tarkin answered, holding out a fistful of straw.  Kylo reached towards the pile and pulled, his eyes never leaving Hux.

He watched as Hux’s eyes widened.  When Kylo looked down, the smirk slid off his face.

He shouldn’t have been surprised to discover that he had pulled the shortest straw.

 

 

**.~O~.**

“C’mon, pilgrim.  We’ve got another twelve miles to go before we hit the Gilla House.”  Kylo glanced sideways at Hux.  Despite his fancy duds, the newcomer had yet to show any signs of discomfort in his saddle, earning Kylo’s begrudging respect.  “We’re about to descend some steep and rocky terrain, so figure another couple hours if we want to avoid baking our horses.”

Hux pulled the brim of his hat lower, the tops of his cheeks having already turned a faint pink.  Kylo frowned; Hux may have been too proud to say anything, but if they didn’t stop for rest and shade, his fair skin was going to put him in a bad predicament.  Kylo looked out as they began to enter San Timoteo Canyon; the sun still sat high over the foothills of the San Jacinto Mountains, painting them in swathes of green and gold against an enormous canvas of blue.

“Keep your eyes peeled,” Kylo said, watching Hux closely.  “It’s not just your average road bandits that we have to concern ourselves about.  The Cahuilla vigilantes and Cupeño Indians also call these mountains home.  Between the Irving Gang incident and years of bad blood between the southern settlers—well, let’s just say that they’re not overly fond of strangers encroaching on their lands.”

A grim satisfaction settled over Kylo as Hux’s pink face paled and his delicate fingers tightened on the reins.  It was good to know that the man could be rattled; he seemed a little too even-keeled for Kylo’s liking.  “This is Snoke’s way of testing you, you know,” Kylo said, finally taking pity on the man.

“I’m well aware.”

“How’d you end up all the way out here, anyway?  I mean, a civilizee like you.  Seems like you’d be better suited sitting behind the desk at the Mercantile, than on top of a hull.”

Hux let out a slow breath.  “Just because I like to read, doesn’t mean that I’m not familiar with the concept of hard work.   I know you and the rest of the men think I’m unsalted.  It may be true that I’ve had the benefit of an education back East, but unfortunately, my father’s love for gambling trumped that of his family’s well-being.  Once our family’s financial status dwindled down to the blanket, I gave up my dreams of becoming a public figure and entered the labor market instead.”

Kylo gave Hux a hard stare.  For the first time, he noticed that Hux’s eyes were the color of the Spanish daggers which sprouted from the rocky slopes—strikingly noticeable, and just as sharp.  “So how did you end up out West?”

Hux shrugged.  “I worked a variety of jobs: actuary, scrivener, assistant to a chemist.  I was even a handseller, at one point.”  Hux looked faintly embarrassed.  “It was this last job which led me to Snoke.  I was beset by a group of thugs who tried to eucher me out of my wares.  I chased them down to a speak softly shop, where I was confronted by their leader.  I ended up talking my way into not only getting back my money, but my goods.”  Hux paused.  “I’m not sure that I would have been so bold, had I known beforehand that their leader was William Poole.”

Kylo let out a low whistle.  “No shit.  _The_ William Poole?  As in Bill the Butcher, founder of the Bowery Boys?”

“The one and the same.  And a nativist, with a fierce dislike of the Dead Rabbits and all things Irish, to boot.”

“You’re lucky you made it out of there with your life, never mind your wares.”

Hux nodded.  “Snoke apparently thought so, too.  He was in the bar with Poole that night.  He witnessed everything, and thought that his own organization could benefit by having someone with a silver tongue.  He paid off my father’s debts—and then some—in exchange for my services.  And so I ended up here.”  They rode along, the silence stretching out between them, broken up by the clip of their horses’ hooves and the occasional, rolling purr.

“What about you, Kylo?” Hux finally asked.  “Tarkin mentioned that you’re a shootist to the manner born.  How did you end up under the employ of someone like Snoke?”

Kylo’s right pocket shifted heavily with each of his horse’s steps.  “Look.  I know I asked, and I appreciate you sharing.  But sometimes, certain things are better left unsaid.”

“' _Those who travel outward seek completeness in things; those who gaze inward find sufficiency in themselves.'_ ”

Kylo gave Hux a sharp look.  “I’m warning you.  Either shut pan, or talk about something else.  Preferably something that doesn’t involve the wisdom of a dead man half a world away.”

Hux nearly fell off his seat.  So the man who purportedly never heard of Confucius was the same who recognized the words of Liezi.  Hux tucked away the bit of information, his curiosity piqued.

“How about a game of Crambo, then?”  Hux suggested.  After all, there were more ways to kill a cat than choking it with cream.

“They rhyming game?”

“Yes.  I’ll go first.  I’m thinking of a word that rhymes with _subjugate._ ”

Kylo snorted.  “Figures; you can’t even play a simple word game by halves.  Fine.”  Kylo chewed his lower lip; Hux watched, fascinated as it reddened and bloomed.  “Is it what happens when you strangle someone?” Kylo asked, his teeth bared into a wicked smile.

“No, it’s not _suffocate_ ,” Hux chuckled, despite himself.

“Is it what a granger does to his fields?”

“No, it’s not _cultivate_.”

Kylo remained silent, his eyes alight as he thought.  There was a long pause—long enough, that Hux thought that Kylo may have given up, until Kylo looked up at him with a grin.

“Is it what I’m going to do when faced with a sheriff’s rifle and the makings of a necktie social?”

Hux laughed, the pleased sound echoing off the canyon’s walls.  “Yes.  It is _prevaricate._  Well done.  Okay, now it’s your turn.”

Kylo frowned at the dried leaf which skittered in front of their path; it was too deep in the afternoon for there to be such a breeze.  “I’m thinking of a word that rhymes with _grub_.”

Hux chose his words carefully.  “Is it something cut short?”

“No. It’s not _stub_.”

“Is it a type of foliage?”

“No, it’s not _shrub_.”

Hux held his breath and laid down his bait.  “Is it something which a Shakespearean Prince may have uttered while contemplating the virtues of a dreamless sleep?”

Kylo looked up at the sky, frowning as the wind began to pick up and the skies darkened to a purplish grey.  “Yes, it’s _rub_ ,” he said absentmindedly as Hux hissed.  “I don’t like the way these clouds are rolling in; we need to find shelter, and quick.”

“How are you familiar with _Hamlet_?!” Hux asked, flummoxed.  Underneath all of that deadly power was a learned man, and likely one smarter than anyone in the gang had suspected. Hux looked at Kylo, side-eyed. “You’re not just a regular gunslinger.  Who are you—” Hux’s words were lost as a bolt of lightning crackled through the sky and his horse reared, jamming his side against the reddish, steep hillside and its thick chaparral, and nearly throwing him off.

“Get yourself forward and don’t pull the reins or you’ll both go down!” Kylo cried as Hux started to slide back.  Kylo watched anxiously, trying to control his own skittish horse as the thunder boomed and the heavens began to pour.  Hux tried valiantly to muscle himself into standing; Kylo could see him reflexively digging in with his legs, in an effort to hold on.

“Hux, listen to me.  Power yourself into the stirrups; remain centered over your saddle, and try to lean into her neck.  Once her legs are down, you can shorten the reins slightly on your right.”  Kylo’s heart pounded as he quickly assessed the situation.  They were caught on the steep slope, in an area where the rapid uplift and weak rocks threatened to slide.  In the distance lay the grasslands, where the parched earth was unable to cope with the force of the deluge, and the creek had already begun to swell.

Kylo heard the sound of tearing fabric as Hux’s bedroll caught in the dense thicket of branches.  “Hux!  If you need to, grab a hold of her mane and slide off your horse!”  Hux shook his head furiously as he adjusted the pressure in his legs and redirecting his grip on the reins once his horse lowered and took a forward step.  She whinnied in protest but took one step and then another; Hux kept a tight grip but slowly relaxed his body, murmuring and soothing the anxious mare in firm but dulcet tones.

“You okay?” Kylo asked.

“Yeah.”  Hux let out a shaky laugh.  “Don’t think I had much of a choice.  It wasn’t just a matter of losing my ride and our supplies.  My choices for dismounting were either to get pinned between a 1,200 pound animal and the unyielding side of a mountain, or to tumble down its muddy, slippery slope.”

“You have no idea.”  Kylo shouted above the wind, as the horses’ hooves kicked up the silt and debris.  “There’s every chance that this slope will become muddier and steeper still.  Part of the reason why these badlands remain so wild is because the type of soil makes it prone to slide.  There’s nowhere safe to rest our horses, or for us to take shelter up here.”  He pointed towards the creek.  “Stay centered,” he reminded Hux as they made their way carefully down.  “See that riparian?  With all the willows and cottonwoods?   We’re going to look for for something halfway between there and the foothills.  With the way the river’s rising, fed by the rain and the Santa Ana, there’s the potential for a real flash flood.”

A flicker of uncertainty passed over Hux’s face.  “So our choices are either being buried in mud or drowning?”

“Actually, there’s a third, and it’s the best one yet: to spend the night waterlogged.”  Kylo squinted, the raindrops falling fat and heavy on his face.  There was nothing like a desert storm, with the acridity of ozone and the sharpness of sage, bathed in the earthiness of loam.  He inhaled, the thick air curling sharp in his chest.

“What’s that?” Hux asked suddenly, pointing to a rectangular brown shape just past the copse of trees.

Kylo eased his horse into a slow trot as the path’s grade leveled off.  “It looks like a homestead.”  His voice trailed as his hand went to his 1851 Colt.  The rain showed no sign of letting up, and the visibility from the fierce precipitation and the aborted twilight was approaching nil.  “I’m going to appeal to their sense of generosity in providing us with a safe haven in the storm.”

As they approached the structure, however, Kylo soon realized that something was off.  Despite the chill of the desert night and the lateness of the evening hour, the structure lay eerily quiet, with an absence of movement and sound.

Kylo dismounted stiffly.  “Wait here,” he ordered Hux.  “I’m going to check things out. 

He moved past the lean-to, his movements easily washed away by the pelting rain.  He knocked, then slowly opened the door, fumbling in the darkness until his hand met with a tinderbox and a scrap of cord.  The carbon sparked, and the unmistakable odor of brimstone filled the air, causing Kylo to wrinkle his nose.

A scan of the surroundings brought along with it a pleasant surprise; the ten by fourteen foot space held a fireplace, a wooden tub and a single bed.  There was a layer of dust which coated the puncheon floor, unmarked aside from the wetness which splattered across its surface with each clip of Kylo’s heels.

Kylo ran back outside.  A smile flitted over his face; despite resembling a drowning rat, Hux was still sitting straight and proper in his seat.

“We’re in luck,” Kylo shouted.  “It’s abandoned; the owners probably left the area after the spate of Cahuilla raids. And it looks to be in fair shape.”

“Thank God,” Hux exhaled.  He dismounted, the exhaustion of the day visible in the slump of his shoulders and making him look all dragged out.  The two worked quickly to untack and secure their horses before finally pushing their way through the homestead’s door.

The battered walls kept out most of the rain, but didn’t do much for the cold.  “Dry off your stuff,” Kylo commanded as he worked on kindling a fire, swearing as his knuckles accidentally struck against the steel.  He clicked the tinderbox several more several times before it finally ignited, the embers glowing orange until the wood crackled and popped from the licking flames.

Hux cleared his throat.  “I’ve got some pemmican and water.  It’s not much, but there’s dried buffalo and choke cherries, so if we can’t fry it up into a réchaud, it won’t be the worst thing to eat raw.”

Kylo dug around one of the bins, discarding the flour which—judging by its rancid smell and the suspicious movement amidst its grains—had definitely seen better days.  He found several potatoes, the tuber firm, although slightly sprouted.  “Fried pemmican it is,” he announced.  He grabbed the wooden tub.  “Going to collect some rainwater for us to boil; I’ve got enough coffee in my pack to make us both a cup of black water in the morn.”

Hux was still standing in the middle of the room when Kylo returned.  He had placed several items on the small table—a bottle of fine bourbon, as well as his Dreambook and weed.  “That’s some first-swathe Virginia leaf, there,” Hux said through his chattering teeth.  “Enough to fill several blankets.  I brought them along with me to sweeten any potential deals.”  He let out a sigh.  “Figure they would serve us better here.”

Kylo looked incredulously as Hux placed his shaking hands in his pockets; even in the dim light, he could see that Hux’s lips had turned a worrisome shade of blue.  “Why haven’t you changed into something dry?” he asked sharply.

Hux shrugged.  “My pack ripped when my horse reared.  Everything that wasn’t lost on the trail was soaked through.”

“You lookin’ to die?”  Kylo fairly shouted, running his hand through his hair.  Snoke was going to pitch a fit if he brought Hux back with nothing to show from their trip besides a dose of consumption.  “Put this on,” he gritted, throwing Hux his spare shirt.  He grabbed the bottle of bourbon and looked at it approvingly before opening it and taking a hearty swig.

Kylo sighed happily, keeping the liquor out of Hux’s reach.  “You’ll eat, then drink,” he admonished.  He set to work on the potatoes, breaking off the sprouts before slicing them into thick wedges with his knife.  They joined the pemmican in the skillet, the fat from the meat melting and sizzling as the potatoes browned and the berries stained the salted game a deep red.  It meal cooked quickly, and once it was set on the table, they both eagerly tucked in.

After several minutes, some of the color had returned to Hux’s face.  Kylo watched fascinated; even in the dusty room, with only the two of them, Hux ate elegantly, his elbows to his sides and his back ramrod straight.

Hux caught Kylo’s stare and shivered.  He pulled Kylo’s shirt more closely around him, although it still hung loose on his thin frame.  Kylo rolled his eyes, then moved his chair until their shoulders touched, so that Hux would be warmed by the fire as well as Kylo’s own heat.

The sounds of the pattering rain and popping wood were broken as Kylo swore.  He shifted, reaching into his vest to draw out the object which had dug uncomfortably against his hip.  The pocket watch’s size and thickness caused it to clunk against the table, its gold case gleaming bright against the dull, rough wood.

Hux sucked in his breath.  The watch was a work of art, its burnished surface covered with intricate engravings and hand piercings, matched by a gilt dial and key.  It was undoubtedly as expensive as it was old, befitting some well-to-do’er from the Old States rather than a b’hoy with an itchy trigger finger and a lifetime’s worth of sand.

Kylo caught Hux looking.  “It’s mine,” he said flatly.  “I didn’t steal it.”

“I never thought you did,” Hux replied.  “Although I’m sure there’s an interesting story behind it.”  He took a healthy pinch of the finely cut tobacco from its pouch and laid it neatly in the makin’, twisting the ends skillfully before lip-flicking the paper closed.

Kylo leaned forward as Hux placed the cigarette between Kylo’s lips and lit the end with a match.  Hux repeated the steps, rolling another one for himself.  They sat back in companionable silence as the smoke curled lazily around them.  A languid contentment settled through Kylo, his body warmed from the food and drink, and the heated press of their thighs.

“How old are you, Hux?”

“Twenty as of June.  You?”

“Nineteen.”  Kylo picked up the pocket watch and turned it over in his hand.  “This was my grandfather’s.  It was passed down to my mother, and was intended to pass onto me when I turned fifteen.”  He frowned, looking a little lost, before putting the watch down.  “I decided to give myself a present two years early.”

Hux found himself leaning towards Kylo, trying to keep the eagerness from his face.  There was something about cheating death—about being touched by one’s own mortality, and realizing that you may not be so lucky in the next instance—that tempted a man to spill his guts.  As if confessing could absolve him of a lifetime of sin.

“I don’t know if your parents blessed you with the name you now have,” Kylo started, as Hux bit back a retort.  “But mine did not.  I was born, not as Kylo, but as Ben.  Ben Solo.

“My mother came from a background of education and privilege back East.  She’s the one who taught me how to read.  Not just the New England Primer, or the local paper.  She encouraged me to read books—Shakespeare; Paine; Irving; Frederick Douglass, and the such.

“She also had a brother, Luke, who carried the frailty of idealism in his heart.  Whereas others may have been drawn to the lure of the American West because of their unfortunate circumstances, or the promises of adventure or land or gold, my uncle wanted no part of a society entrenched in the corrupted political and religious mores back East.  He moved West, eventually settling in Anchorhead, Nevada, where he convinced my mother to join him.”

“' _All that glisters is not gold.'_  The West has a lawlessness and corruption of its very own,” Hux said softly.

“Exactly,” Kylo snorted.  “And it has the tendency to attract those who embrace that very fact—men and women with a loose sense of morals, and an inclination to do as they please.  My mother and uncle had been well-trained as children in the use of firearms for hunting and sport, and soon took it upon themselves to bring order to their tiny town.

“For a while, they were successful.  Both fell in love—my mother to a Sagebrush Man, and my uncle to the local shopkeeper’s daughter.  I was born soon after, and several years later, my Aunt and Uncle had my cousin Rey.  But nothing exists independent of its surroundings; the things which were taking place in California and Texas started to affect our little town.”

Hux nodded, ticking off recent events.  “The gold rush in San Feliciano Canyon.  Kit Carson’s expedition across the Sierra Nevada, and the Great Migration over the Oregon Trail.”

“Yes.  And then the Mexican War which followed, not to mention the conflicts with the Indians once Texas was acquired, and the flood of settlers out West grew.  My Uncle protested the treatment of the Shoshone by certain townsfolk, but after the raid by the Indians on a wagon train, my aunt and her father were cut down by an angry mob.  It was only through Divine intervention that Rey was with us at the time.  The pain was too great; Luke and Rey left when I was nearly ten, leaving my mother to watch over the town by herself.”

“What about your father?”

An angry look fell over Kylo’s face.  “He was the best—as well as the worst—mistake of my mother’s life.  Loaded with looks and charm, and skilled with a gun, but not much of anything else.  He was never around; he lived life on his own hook—always had, always would.  I had more contact with the outriders who guarded our ranch than I did with my own father.”

Hux looked up at Kylo, his green eyes steady and understanding, but thankfully devoid of unwanted sympathy.  “So how did a boy whose family put stock in the law, end up with someone like Snoke?”

Kylo’s eyes softened.  “The first time I held a gun, I just _knew._  I had the ability of knowing just how and where to aim.  It wasn’t merely a matter of being the fastest drawer, or a dead straight shot.  I could sense my target—the change in their direction, their hesitation, the effect of their surroundings on the bullet’s path.  I had an ability to get into their minds, and predict what would come next.

“I was angered by the loss of my family.  I wanted to help my mother in returning order to our town.  But she thought I was too young; perhaps she also thought me too unpredictable, like my father.”  Kylo sneered.  “The only time I felt alive was when I had the weight of a gun in my hand.  I felt stifled—by an absentee father, a busy and overly concerned mother, and with my uncle and cousin gone.  Life in Anchorhead had become as barren and meaningless as the land it sat on.”

“So Snoke discovered and courted you.  Just like he did me.”

“Do you know what it means to have someone recognize the best part of you?  To recognize and accept you, for who you are?  Snoke knew I was the best; said I was the biggest toad in the puddle.  But he also told me that it didn’t matter if was the biggest toad in the puddle, if I was the only one swimming in it.  So I grabbed my gun, walked through the door with nothing more than the clothes on my back and my pocket watch, and cut fish and bait.”

The heat and drink made Hux’s mind fuzzy and his lips loose.  “You’re so much smarter than you let on,” he admitted.  “Between your intelligence and your sharpshooting prowess, you would be a formidable opponent for anyone, indeed.  Yet you keep that side of you hidden.”  His lids began to droop slightly, as a small smile flitted across his face.  “I wonder what it would take for someone to cotton on to you.”

“Snoke may have brought you out here for your smarts. But people respect me for the skill that comes from my hands, and not from those of my lips.”

Hux’s gaze lingered on the shape of Kylo’s plush mouth.  “I don’t know about that,” he teased.  “I’m betting there are plenty of people who would respect the hell out of those lips.”  He turned to stub out the remnant of his cigarette, the sudden movement causing him to catch his breath.  “Fuck.”

Kylo’s confusion over Hux’s comment was quickly replaced by worry once he saw the way Hux was holding his side.  A ripple of alarm flowed through him.  Hux could have broken a rib when he was thrown against the side of the canyon.  Or, even worse, punctured a lung.

“I don’t get you,” Kylo gritted out as he batted away Hux’s protestations and opened his shirt.  He felt along Hux’s side, his large fingers inspecting the curve of Hux’s ribs and pressing against the softness of his skin.  “You have no problem in talking my ear off about the social politics of Rancho Jurupa, but you can’t spare two words to let me know that you’ve been hurt?”

“I didn’t want you to think of me as just some Mail Order Cowboy,” Hux mumbled, wincing as Kylo thumbed the bottom flare of his ribs.

“Take a deep breath,” Kylo ordered.  He splayed his right hand along Hux’s side, noting the depth of his inhalation and the movement of his chest.  “I thought you were smarter than that.  You’re better off to me honest but alive, than silent and dead.”  His left hand reached up to grasp Hux’s chin, his breaths coming fast from concern and anger.  “You understand?”

Hux swallowed.  A faint blush suffused his neck as he lowered his eyes, his pale, golden lashes brushing over his delicate cheeks.  Kylo shifted, his own face heating as he watched Hux’s green eyes go dark.

God, the man was beautiful.  He looked nothing like any of the men Kylo had previously known, with his pale, freckled skin and wiry grace.  His patrician nose and the shape of his mouth was almost too delicate, yet he exuded a ferocious determination that was exceeded only by his smarts.  He was an intriguing mix of contradictions, whose soft voice had the capability to wield as much power and threat as the double barrel of Kylo’s gun.

It was a voice that had gone uncharacteristically quiet.  Kylo was worldly enough to have knowledge of both a man and woman’s reaction to an illicit touch.  A misreading of signs could be fatal, however; men were laid to the ground for presumptions more minor than this.  He resumed his assessment of Hux, watching closely as his thick fingers extended beyond the bend of Hux’s ribs and onto the planes of his chest.  He brushed his thumb against the Hux’s tiny, pink nipples then moved lower, his knuckles grazing that soft line of hair that disappeared below the waist of Hux’s pants.

Hux’s respirations turned shallow  The hitch in his breath, the pinking of his cheeks, and the way in which the front of his woolen trousers tented so deliciously was all that Kylo needed to see.

“I think you’re okay,” Kylo said hoarsely.  “Maybe a bruised rib or two, but—”

A small noise escaped from the back of Hux’s throat, a glorious mix of torture and embarrassment and want.  “I don’t feel okay.  Quite warm, in fact.”  There was a long, drawn out silence during which Hux’s ears reddened and his stomach roiled.  “Never mind,” he added hastily.  “Maybe it’s a touch of bilious fever.”  He moved to turn, just as Kylo lunged forward.

“Hux,” Kylo said, his voice rough as he closed in and tasted Hux’s lips.

Hux moaned, his hands threading through Kylo’s long locks as he returned Kylo’s kiss.  Hux was delicious—like dark cherries stained with the earthiness of malted barley and topped off by a note of oak and smoke.  It was an intoxicating mix, and one that filled Kylo with a desperate need as the blood rushed to his rapidly swelling cock.

“Yes,” Hux hissed, tipping his head back.  The movement exposed the long line of his throat, which Kylo promptly began attacking as he ground up against Hux’s equally hard prick.

Kylo’s heart pounded, his blood pumping hotly as the air around them crackled fast and sharp.  He eyed Hux hungrily, drinking in the expanse of pale skin, the flat of Hux’s belly, and the jut of his hips. Hux moaned under the scrutiny and licked his lips.  It was an image so breathtaking in its intensity, it nearly knocked Kylo down.

He fumbled with the buttons on the placket of Hux’s trousers and tugged them past his knees, groaning in pleasure upon seeing the long, hard outline of Hux’s prick.  Kylo lowered his own trousers, cursing as the lined buckskin clung to his thighs, slowing their fall.  His cock sprang free, ruddy and thick.  Kylo repositioned himself above Hux, straddling Hux’s arching form as he gave into the feel of Hux’s heated skin against his cock’s sensitive head, and that hard, delicious slide.

Kylo wrapped his hand around Hux’s length, his own cock rutting against the softness of Hux’s thigh.  The friction from his strokes was enough to coax a delightfully high-pitched whine from Hux.  Kylo fisted Hux faster, rubbing the foreskin back and forth against the velvety head of his glans, until a drop of clear fluid formed at its tip.  He swiped at the liquid with the pad of his thumb and rubbed it along the spongy head, turning it slippery and wet.

_“Fuck,”_ Kylo breathed as Hux leaned into him.  Hux’s breath was coming fast and hot against the crook of Kylo’s neck, his fingers trailing over the soft and wrinkled skin of Kylo’s balls before circling the thick length of Kylo’s shaft.  Kylo groaned, and in one swift movement, carried Hux to the edge of the bed.  He loomed over him, shuddering as their cocks brushed against one another, before finally grasping their achingly hard lengths in his huge hand.

“Oh, God,” Hux cried.  He reached around, hands digging into Kylo’s ass and pulling him closer.

_This is so wrong,_ Kylo thought, even as the spikes of pleasure intensified, causing him to tighten his grip.  Guilt and worry battered at Kylo’s conscience, but it wasn’t enough to stop—not when he was tugging so perfectly at their pricks.  Not when Hux’s face was buried against Kylo’s chest, and Hux was making all these delicious sounds.

“ _‘I listen with attention to the judgment of all men; but so far as I can remember, I have followed none but my own,'_ ” Hux gasped.

Kylo huffed out a laugh; he hadn’t realized that he had spoken his concern out loud.  He slowed his movement, before grinding down agonizingly with his hips.  “If you recite one more platitude, I’m going to stop.”

_“Fuck, no,_ ” Hux groaned helplessly.  His finger trailed down the cleft of Kylo’s ass, lingering in the space between his muscular flesh.  His teeth nipped the line stubble which framed the line of Kylo’s jaw.  “How about this, then?  There’s a lot of things in life which I may regret, but living shouldn’t be one of them.  Now get us off, and fast, you fucker.  I want to see your come all over my dick.”  He thrust against Kylo, his index finger teasing the cleft of his buttocks, and then pressing against and entering Kylo’s hole.

“Fucking hell!” Kylo howled.  He came, coating their cocks with his thick spunk as Hux followed soon after.  Kylo’s hand shook as he continued to stroke them through their post-orgasmic, blissful haze, their softening pricks slipping against one another until they were both sucking in their breaths from the sensitivity of its touch.

Kylo rolled over, breaths evening, lids heavy, muscles loosened, flesh warm.  He gave into the lassitude, losing the battle to stay awake as he surrendered to sleep.  The last thing he remembered was Hux kissing him fiercely, their bellies wet with the sticky pool of their cooling come.

 

 

**.~O~.**

Hux took the cup of coffee Kylo, sputtering as he took a sip.  “Want some water with your coffee grounds?  That’s strong enough to float a colt!”

“Just the way I like it,” Kylo grinned.  The lightheartedness fell from his face once he looked out over the river; the freshet from the deluge created standing water that was, in certain places, as deep as five feet.

Hux placed his coffee on the table.  He hesitated a moment, before wrapping an arm around Kylo’s waist.

“Are you regretting last night?” he asked, his breath sending shivers up Kylo’s neck.  “What happened between us?”

Kylo shook his head, welcoming the way in which Hux’s lips yielded so readily as he gave him a kiss.  “No,” he answered emphatically.  Just an hour ago, Kylo had been awoken by a rumpled and unshucked Hux, who then proceeded to take the whole of Kylo’s cock into his talented mouth.

“It’s Snoke,” Kylo confessed.  “He’s going to be madder than a hornet when he hears that we’ve failed.  When Snoke’s been denied something he truly wants, he can be as wicked and as terrifying as the Devil himself.  But look at it out there; it’s flooded for miles in either direction.  There’s no way our horses can make it through that swell. 

Hux looked at Kylo with an amused expression.  “Have you forgotten who I am?”

Kylo laughed softly as he rubbed his jaw along Hux’s cheek.  “How could I forget you, Ar-mi-tage? 

Hux gave Kylo a playful swat.  “Then you should remember why Snoke hired me in the first place.”  He pointed out towards the swollen, muddy waters.  “What feeds into the creek?”

“The Los Angeles; the San Gabriel; and the Santa Ana.”

“Right.  And from the looks of the mud and floating debris, I would wager that all three rivers, including the Santa Ana, have overflowed their banks.  Now, would I be correct in stating that most of the settlements around here are built along fertile riverside fields?”

“Yes,” Kylo answered slowly.

“And our mission was to speak to those whose properties blocked access to Snoke’s use of the waterways.”  Hux smiled, flashing a set of white and impossibly straight teeth.  “It’s such a pity, for us to have journeyed this distance, only to discover that the towns which were so vital to our cause have now been washed away.”  Hux noted Kylo’s lingering doubt.  “Look at the Borrego badlands in the distance, Kylo.  The rain and melt has already affected its landscape.  If it can alter the shape of the hills, what chance does a small riverside community have in the face of nature’s wrath?”

“Okay,” Kylo breathed.  “You convinced me.  We’ll feed our horses, then find our way back.”

“A half hour more,” Hux whispered, his hand palming the gentle swell of Kylo’s ass.  Hux’s hair was gloriously disheveled, his eyes as green as the Ponderosa Pine, and lips as sweet as the desert dew. 

Kylo relented, unable to refuse Hux’s request. As he slid his tongue into the velvety warmth of Hux’s mouth, he realized that he would battle Hell and High Water all over again, just for the chance to feel like this.

**Author's Note:**

> *Come say "hi" on [Tumblr!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/nerdherderette)


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